


innate

by snowy_writes



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Referenced emotional manipulation, SO, also gryffindor credence squad i am so down for that, i mean like, it's credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowy_writes/pseuds/snowy_writes
Summary: Credence Barebone was not brave. really, he wasn't. he was prideful, and selfish, and a coward.
it was not bravery. he would never call it that.
if only he knew.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ‘can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?’

Credence Barebone was not brave. He knew this, had quietly submitted himself to this truth the way he had to many things, was reminded of it as he followed mother to the room upstairs, unbuckling his belt and ducking his head without a word.

 

He hissed, whimpered. He gasped, sometimes. He winced. He did not cry, however. Not once, not ever. Not while the belt came down again, and again, and again, not when the children peered up at him when ma walked away, looking for something, searching for something, something to hold onto. To grasp. To lean on. He gives it to them: he does not cry where they can see.

 

Pride is a sinful thing.

 

Credence is a sinful thing.

 

(it is not pride, but he does not know what else to call it. he cannot see it for what it truly is.)

 

The man’s touch is soft, like silk. His words a caress, a balm. There is a darkness that lurks behind his eyes.

 

_“You are special, my boy. A miracle. A gift. You will be honored among wizards.”_

 

Credence is weak, and starved. He listens. He believes. He does everything he is asked.

 

“The child is dying, Credence. We must find it. We must hurry. This child needs your help.”

 

He is selfish, so very selfish, sneaking into darkened alleys, late at night, lying to his mother, to his siblings, deceiving and acting and keeping secrets, helping witches and standing by mother’s side like he wasn’t a hypocrite and a liar. She had given him so much. She could take away so much.

 

A child is dying, however.

 

He cannot think of a better reason to sin.

 

_“What is this?”_

 

There is betrayal in ma’s voice, anger. So much of it. His eyes drift from her shoes to Modesty’s shaking, trembling hands. He unbuckles his belt and follows without a word.

 

His voice quivers, his hands shake. He wants to beg. He wants to plead. He does not feel very brave, just then.

 

_“You are unteachable, a squib. I’m done with you.”_

 

Anger, betrayal. And hurt. It burns down his throat, like acid. It settles in his stomach and it boils. The darkness within him pushes at the walls, at the surface. It consumes him. He lets it.

 

He wakes to the cries of seagulls, to the parting of clouds. He stands in shadows, and watches, quietly. The man in blue, the one with the suitcase.

 

New York is everything he’s ever known. It’s everything he’s ever seen. Everything he’s ever loved and hated was here.

 

He ducks into the boat, behind him. He does not look back. He will never look back again.

**Author's Note:**

> 'that is the only time a man can be brave.'


End file.
